


welcome to the dollhouse

by coffeespoons



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Just girls being girls, Lots of alcohol, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-10-27 23:37:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10819143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeespoons/pseuds/coffeespoons
Summary: Trixie thought he was just going to New York to cut an album.





	1. SMH

**Author's Note:**

> I have nothing to say for myself, hashtag it's whateva. Buy TWO BIRDS on iTunes.

Trixie was in NYC and, well. Bob was out of town, and Trixie needed to crash with _someone_.

“You stupid fucking bitch,” Violet greeted him with a hug. They were outside this old gloryhole-in-the-wall Violet recommended; 4/5 clown emojis.

“Violet,” Trixie said, “You look fat.”

“Not all of us can be masc4masc gym rats like Trixie fucking Mattel.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Trixie posed, lifting his arm behind his neck and flexing. Violet shook their head. “Feel free to Snapchat this or whatever, I can hold it.”

“I can't with you. Let's get drunk.”

  
\---

 

About five minutes into drinks the pair were approached by a fan who squealed, “I can't believe I'm finally making _Contact™_ with the legend, icon, and star--”

Trixie suppressed the desire to roll his eyes at the goddamned motherfucking _Contact_ reference, nodded the fan along, sipped his whiskey, and fucking lived for the fact that Chachki was being completely ignored right next to him.

And Violet, to their credit, only huffed and puffed a couple times before finally giving up and returning to scroll their phone until the interaction ended. Trixie eventually sent the fan away with his patented stone-faced selfie.

“Oh, you know,” Trixie turned back to Violet. “Just one of my like, fans or, whatever.”

Violet was only able to feign disinterest for so long before they finally asked what that was all about.

“It's all... _UNHhhh_ ,” Trixie said with a shrug. His face fell at Violet’s blank stare. “Oh bitch, don't play dumb. It's a YouTube sensation.”

“You and Katya doing makeup tutorials now? Sickening...” Trixie laughed, genuinely annoyed. Violet took a sip of their cocktail. “‘YouTube fucking sensation’, bitch...”

“Girl, we average a hundred thousand views in like, an hour. I'm not joking, bitch.”

“Oh,” Violet took off their hat and ran their fingers through their flattened pompadour. This was when Trixie knew they were drunk. “At all. How _is_ that whore?”

“Girl, you haven't been watching her periscopes?”

“Who the fuck periscopes anymore,” Violet muttered into their drink. Trixie laughed and ordered himself another double, fuck it.

“Didn't you guys just see each other on the Christmas Cunts tour or whatever?”

Violet rolled their eyes. “Fucking BOTS. I barely remember that trip. Although,” Violet set their drink down and gave a Trixie a look, “We were painting next to each other and she was all ripped and shit.” They downed their drink and signaled for another. “Talking about fucking tanning and Botox and shit, bitch. You're both so Hollywood now, it's…”

“Inevitable,” Trixie finished for her.

“Girl,” Violet took her drink from the bartender. “I guess.”

  
\---

 

It took about two and a half drinks more for Mexico to come up again.

“But girl…” Violet’s smile was easier to come by, now, the bitch persona having melted away with the vodkas. “She was looking good.”

“You are so gross,” Trixie said.

Violet giggled and sighed. Something in her demeanor was setting off a little voice in Trixie’s head.

“Did you actually...do… something...?” Violet rubbed their face with a groan and looked at a him. “Don't be specific,” Trixie warned.

“No,” they said. “Don't be a freak.”

“But you thought about it.” Violet squinted at him.

“We have all,” they began, setting their drink down slowly, “thought about it, bitch. You know what, fuck that. If we didn't get poisoned by those edibles, yes, some shit would've gone down.”

“Violet Chachki going down. Well I never...”

Violet cackled and slammed the rest of her drink, pulling Trixie out of his chair by the neck of his shirt. “C'mon, idiot. I'm ready to dance.”

 

\---

 

They danced. They ran into some people under the lights; a couple other queens, other queens’ assistants, friends from New York, friends of friends who may or may not be assistants, and the occasional fan...

By the time they headed back to Violet’s apartment they were both sloshed for the Gods, Violet clinging to Trixie’s arm like a seasick koala.

“I never fucked Katya,” Violet confessed on the ride over, her words curdling all the alcohol in Trixie’s stomach. “Because I felt like she was too distracted or some shit. I need someone to be like, obsessed, you know?”

“Uh huh.”

“I totally could have though.”

“Right.”

Violet’s eyes narrowed. “Do you not think I could?”

“Girl,” Trixie pried the drunken queen off his arm. “I have literally seen Katya get up and leave a room because she got too aroused during a documentary about black. Holes.” He held one finger up to Violet’s twisted face, “In space, bitch. Can we have one fucking conversation that passes the Bechdel test?”

 

\---

 

At the apartment, Violet put on a pot of coffee. Trixie was grateful for the cup she handed him until he took a sip of what tasted like pure whiskey.

“Are you for real?”

“Girl,” Violet took a sip of their own coffee, a small smile spreading across their face like a fungus. “You thought we were _done_?”

Trixie shrieked with laughter, setting his cup down carefully so he could throw his swimming head back and silently ask God why they put him in the company of psychotic people so often; and why did he enjoy their company so much?

“This is it,” he wheezed to the heavens. “Pearl warned me about you, but I had no idea…”

“Listen bitch,” Violet laughed and leaned over the counter top, “Fuck Pearl, fuck fucking Katya--”

“I thought we agreed to stop talking about that.”

“--I am really glad you’re here.”

Trixie swallowed another sarcastic response, getting a good long look at his drunken frenemy; clocking the disheveled hair, the ugly bruise on their arm from the stupid move they had tried to pull off on the dance floor. The dumb new tattoo that was kind of cool in a dumb tattoo way. “Me too,” he said, reaching over to toast their mugs. “I think. But girl,” he took another swig of his coffee, “it's gonna be a long week if you keep spiking the coffee, giiiiirl…”

 

\---

 

It was day five of six of his trip and Trixie was fucking hungover. Trixie hadn't been this fucking hungover since, uh… the day before.

“How does this bitch get anything done?” He muttered to himself. His phone started to chirp with a FaceTime request as he made his way out of the studio. He answered it and was greeted by a bloodshot eyeball.

“Mama, can you use your vast medical expertise and tell me: is this a stye?”

“I dunno,” Trixie said, “looks like eye herpes.”

Katya cackled on the other end, pulling back so Trixie could see the rest of him. He looked exhausted, though that was nothing new. Trixie always worried, anyway.

“I hope not, though I kind of think I would have had a breakout way before now if so,” Katya said. “How's it going? You and Trinket tear each other apart yet?”

“We've been getting along great, actually.” Trixie grinned down at Katya’s stupid, handsome face. As disturbing as Violet’s Mexican epiphany was, it wasn't exactly shocking; Katya is beautiful - even crusty and sleepless. Also, Violet’s a gigantic whore. “She does seem determined to keep me heavily intoxicated, though,” he continued. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Oh, yeah, that sounds, ah…” Katya took an extremely long drag of his cigarette. “Fun. Look. I was actually - I was wondering, I know you’re busy, but I have a cut of that video I’m working on for the thing-”

“The thing! How exciting!”

“Yes! I want - can I send you the rough cut? Like, tonight? I just want your opinion.”

“Katya, yeah, of course. Send it.”

“Aw, Tracy. You’re the best.” Katya planted a kiss on the camera.

“Oh, you know what,” Trixie began as Katya pulled the camera back. “That’s definitely eye herpes.”

  
\---

 

Trixie was surprised to find Violet at the apartment when he got home. They had their laptop open on the kitchen counter and barely glanced up at him when he came through the door, obviously looking for something.

“Hey,” Trixie nodded at the other queen. Violet grunted in reply.

Trixie rolled his eyes and dumped his backpack on the couch. “Since you're here, you wanna order takeout or something? I'm starving.” Violet ignored him, still staring at their computer. “Hello? Cunt?”

A _ding!_  popped out of Violet’s laptop speakers. They ripped a tiny USB drive out of the machine and held it up for Trixie to see.

“Do you know what this is?” They said. Trixie looked from the drive, to Violet, slowly shaking his head.

“ _Just jackin’ it: The Return of Frankie Malone_?'”

Violet shook their head, a grin spreading across their face like a barn fire.

“This, you barbie doll bitch, is the rough cut of a little something called _‘Welcome to the Dollhouse.’_ ”

Trixie froze. “You're fucking kidding me.”

Violet shook their head. Trixie buried his face in his hands and began to laugh.

 _Welcome to the Dollhouse_ was a failed reality show idea cooked up by a couple Drag Race producers who saw “potential” in their contentious, achingly millennial rivalry. The pitch for the show was: Violet, fresh off her win, decides to make up for her bad attitude by letting her season 7 sister Trixie Mattel crash with her while she tried to find new footing in the ATL drag scene.

They rented out a little bungalow to act as Violet’s place and shot for about four weeks. Trixie had never had so much fun in his life, and he was surprised it was with Violet, of all people.

Violet, on the other hand, was not having it; every day there was a new dispute with the producers, with her reps, with fucking craft services. She was miserable.

Once the pilot was in the can, Trixie went home. A couple months later, his agent called to tell him the network gave it a pass.

Trixie was no stranger to heartbreak, but this had taken him a little while to get over.

"Hello? Cunt?"

Violet was still waving the USB drive in his face. "Amazing," Trixie said, shaking his head. "That's amazing. I can't believe you have that."

 "So... are we watching this or not? i have a bottle in the fridge I was gonna open when it premiered, but. You know."

"That's funny," Trixie said. "I drank mine a long time ago. Pop it in, I'll grab the bottle."

 

\---

 

The footage was kinda eerie without any music.

They cut to a talking head with Violet saying something shady about Trixie’s look for this pageant Violet entered her in.

“Jon Benet Ramsey? More like Jon Benet I-don't-want-to- _see_ -that.”

On the couch, Trixie shrieked and Violet shook their head.

“I wrote that line, right?” Trixie said. Violet nodded, rolling their eyes. “Fuck, I'm funny. Man. I can't believe they didn't pick this show up. It's good!”

“I mean, it's no _Finding Prince Charming_ , but…”

They laughed as the camera cut to the horrified looks of the pageant queens Trixie had beat out for the crown with nothing but a pair of tap shoes and a wig made out of 17 other wigs.   

“Do you ever think,” Violet began, “of what it would have been like if we knew each other before doing the show?”

Trixie grunted, trying to concentrate on the show. The camera stayed on Violet watching from off-stage, laughing at Trixie's idiotic victory speech; and it was twisting up his insides a bit, for some reason. 

 _I guess it was always her show,_ he thought. That would have changed if they'd made it past the pilot. It would have changed. 

“Like,” Violet said, breaking Trixie's concentration again. They pushed their face in so their chin disappeared into a series of folds. “If we…”

“Oh,” Trixie set his drink down to finally look at Violet, “you mean if you weren’t such a raging cunt to me the entire time.”

“Not exactly,” Violet shrugged, smirking. “But c’mon, girl. You loved it.”

Trixie rolled his eyes and picked his drink back up. “Girl, I’ll tell you what would have been different: absolutely fucking nothing.”

Violet nodded. “Well,” They took a sip of their drink. “I was thinking: maybe they would have made me knock you out instead of Pearl. You know,” Their eyes slid to Trixie, who was pointedly not looking at them. “Capitalize on those emotional stakes…”

Trixie felt his lip curl. He took another sip of his drink.

“Then again. They never took advantage of you and Max, did they?”

“Max was too boring,” Trixie muttered.

“True,” Violet said. They shook their head, turning back to the TV. “Our rivalry would have been so good. What a fucking shame.”

It was the most blatant act of antagonism from Violet in the entire week Trixie had been there. He really should have seen it coming, but he didn’t want to take the bait. He really didn’t. Then again, he couldn’t just sit there while--

Trixie’s phone whistled with an email.

“Ah, Katya’s thing…”

“What’s that?” Violet leaned over to peer at the phone.

“Her - it’s a rough cut of this short she’s making, well, one of them, for the show.”

  
“Oh, cool. Forward it to me and I'll put it on the TV. Give it a proper premiere...”

Trixie hesitated for a moment before sending the file along; Katya wouldn’t mind the extra pair of eyes, especially not Violet’s. 

 _Ding._  Violet whipped the thumb drive back out and connected it to the TV, settling back in next to Trixie and taking a long sip of champagne. 

The video started with a fumbling phone. The camera focused on a green eye, then a flash of teeth. Violet glanced at Trixie and then back at the screen, eyes wide.

Katya settled back into a chair.

“Oh my god,” Trixie and Violet said in unison. Katya was wearing nothing but clip-on bangs. Nothing.

And he was hard.

It was the wrong file. Someone out in the world was trying to figure out a way to get hard to a video of Katya Zamolodchikova doing a surreal monologue in broken Russian, while Trixie Mattel and Violet Chachki sat on the couch and watched Brian McCook adjust his bangs and wrap his hand around his dick.

“No,” Trixie reached for the remote, “no, no, no--”

Violet snatched the remote away. “ _Yes_ , bitch. This is HAPPENING.”

Trixie stared at Violet, jaw on the floor. “You cannot be serious? This is a _total_ violation--”

“Oh, spare me. You sluts probably send each other this shit all the-- OH!" They scrambled to hide the remote under themself as Trixie lunged at them. Violet laughed as Trixie effectively hugged her, trying to find the remote. "Did I hit it on the head or what, bitch? I can't believe you just came for me that way!"

"Violet," Trixie hissed, sliding away from where he had the other queen pinned into the couch, trying to ignore the husky noises coming out of the television. "Turn. It. _Off."_

Violet just stared up at him, shaking their head. “Did you," they began quietly, "or did you not, watch my ancient porn with this bitch, and then send me detailed fucking reviews, Trixie Mattel? Including a fucking write-up on the volume and consistency of my _cum_?”

Behind them, Katya let out a weird whine, babbling in Russian.

Trixie blinked. That was true, they had; but that was a professional fucking production...ish. And the cum thing was all Katya; Trixie was more interested in the mis-en-scene. He said as much to Violet, who pushed him away, pauseing the video and pulling out their phone.

She took a picture of the screen and sent it to Katya and Trixie's phones with the message:

_V: bangs are a good look on u, girl._

Violet stared at Trixie while they waited for a response. They were both holding their breath until their phones finally vibrated with a response.

_K: Oh cool._

_K: I guess this is what I get for naming all of my files SMH_

Trixie and Violet looked at each other. “She would,” Violet said, typing a response.

“What are you saying?” Trixie muttered, not liking at all where this was going.

Violet smirked at him as the message went through to the chat. It read:

_V: TRASHHHHHH. U don't mind if we watch it right??_

“You're insane,” Trixie whispered, staring at his phone.

There was a long pause before Katya finally replied.

_K: Only if you record yourselves jerking off to it_

_K: lol_

Trixie and Violet glanced at each other again. Trixie did not care for the glint in the other queen’s eyes.

“Don’t you fucking dare--”

_V: Challenge accepted, hooker._


	2. The Pitcher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is gonna be more than two parts. Also, I now have a tumblr where I am taking questions about all sorts of things. fryshook.tumblr.com

“I’m not doing that,” Trixie said, getting up off the couch. “Have fun with your stroll down memory lane, Frankie, but I’m not getting involved in this shit.”

Violet stared at Trixie for a moment and cackled when they realized he wasn’t joking.

“Seriously, bitch? What the fuck?”

“I'm not,” Trixie spat, storming out of the room, “fucking doing that.”

“Trixie!” Violet called after him, scrambling over the couch, phone in hand. “What the hell!”

“No, nope,” Trixie grabbed his bag and started tossing things into it. He wasn't sure what he was doing or where he was going to go, but he needed to leave this place. Now.

He turned and found Violet staring at him in the doorway, mouth hanging open.

They silently regarded one another for a moment. Trixie threw his backpack over his shoulder.

“What's your fucking problem?” Violet said, breaking the silence. “Why are you so freaked out? Literally last night you were in the kitchen going on about--” and here Violet did, maybe not the most insulting but definitely top three, impression of Trixie, and said: _‘I need to just stop being such a PUSSY about LIFE and have Boomer come up here and turn my asshole inside out--”_

Trixie laughed mirthlessly and shook his head. He started and stopped his answer a few times before finally tossing his backpack onto the ground and holding out his hands, like, _what do you want me to say?_

He settled with: “I'm not a porn star, Violet. I'm goddamned drag queen.”

“What's the fucking _difference_?”

Trixie blinked.

“I know this is impossible for you to grasp,” he said, “even with those big man hands, but: I really don't want to sit on that couch with you and watch my best friend… yank he doodle.”

Violet’s eyes narrowed. They shook their head and groaned, looking up to the heavens.

“Yes you do,” they said, finally looking back at Trixie. “And I don't know why you're afraid to admit that. I know this is impossible for you to grasp,” Violet said, slowly approaching him, “with those… petite, feminine fingers,” Trixie swallowed, “but I know you, Trixie Mattel. And I know exactly what kind of girl you are.”

A darkness that had been dormant inside Trixie for years began to stir as his former competitor drew closer. His heart hammered inside his chest as he held his lips and teeth together in a grim line.

Violet was close, now. Too close. They looked as if they were going to reach out to him, to touch him, but thought better of it, crossing their arms, straightening their spine and drawing a deep breath.

“Your life is about to change,” Violet said, voice even and calm. “Everything is going to be different when you get on that plane and go back to California, and I think,” Violet said, “it’s time for you to relax while you still can.”

Violet held out a hand to Trixie.

“C’mon, Firkus,” they said. “I promise it'll be fun.”

Trixie did not break eye contact until he finally brushed past Violet, heading back into the living room.

 

Katya still had his hands full on the TV screen, one fastened around his cock and the other cupping his chest as if he were wearing his tits. Trixie sighed, staring at the paused image of his debauched business partner.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen Katya in a compromising position. It hadn’t even been a month, actually. After a week or so of missed calls and complete radio silence from the Russian impersonator, Trixie had begun to suspect the worst… until Katya had sent over a snapchat of some stranger’s balls in his mouth with the message: _“don't worry Trixie, I'm only smoking dick. See you Monday.”_

Tears had streamed down Trixie’s face as he brayed with laughter, the relief and joy swallowing him whole.

But something about watching Katya pull the padge like this… Trixie shook his head.

“She didn't make this for us to watch,” he said. “It's not right.”

Behind him, Violet rolled their eyes with violent frustration.

“What makes you so sure?” Violet walked around to lean over the couch. “I wouldn't be surprised if she sent you that on purpose.”

“You're wrong,” Trixie said, crossing his arms. “We’re not _like_ that. She asked me this afternoon to watch her stupid short film, and she fucked up. She’s old, Violet! She doesn't know how technology fucking works!”

Violet just quirked her eyebrow.

“And they call me a bad actor,” they said. “Get out, Mattel. Go take a walk. Have a glass of water. I promise not to watch one more minute until you get back.”

Trixie pressed his fingers into his cheek for a moment, thinking. Finally, he grabbed his jacket and walked out the door.

Violet listened to him walk down the hallway. They clicked their tongue and settled onto the couch, pulling out their phone.

 

_V: Hey_

_K:Hey._

_V: Can I ask you something?_

_K: I’m not really in the mood. Especially if it's about my cum._

Violet rolled their eyes.

_V: Did Trixie just get dumped or something before she came out here? She's less fun than usual._

_K: Yeah_.

Violet nodded to themself, considering their next question.

_V: Cuz of you?_

_K: Yeah._

_V: That’s fucked up._

_K: Yeah._

 

*

 

Trixie wasn't sure if he was shivering because of the cold, or because of the horrible tempest of emotions churning in his stomach.

A sickeningly familiar voice in his head asked: _Why are you being so fucking dramatic?_

Trixie didn't have an answer. He just kept walking until the comforting smell of coffee lured him into a warm building.

He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. It was Katya:

_K: You know I was kidding, right? You don't have to show me your wiener._

_I know,_ Trixie began typing. He paused, deleting the message. Instead, he wrote:

_T: Did you send me that video on purpose?_

The ellipses appeared on the other side of the conversation for a moment, then disappeared. When they came back, Trixie realized his mouth was dry.

_K: Do you want to be mad at me, or would you prefer an alternative fact?_

Trixie blinked, feeling a pulse in his temple throb.

“Sir?”

Trixie looked up from his phone into the wide green eyes of the Dunkin’ Donuts cashier.

“How can I help you?”

Trixie stared back at the kid.

“I don't think you can,” he said.

“Oh,” the kid said. “I'm...sorry?”

“Me too,” Trixie muttered as he walked back out onto the cold street.

 

*

 

Violet was waiting on the couch when Trixie came back.

“Feeling better, Squirrel?”

“Not really,” came Trixie’s curt reply.

Disappointment flickered across the young queen’s face.

“So you're out?”

“Violet, I was never in.”

Violet nodded and sniffed, getting up off the couch to refill their champagne.

“Oh well,” they said. “I thought it might be fun to have a scene partner for my big comeback. But I guess I am better off solo.”

 

 _“I don't fucking_ need _her, David.”_

It was the fall of 2015 in Atlanta and Violet was, once again, screaming at her manager. Trixie had come by to pitch a gag for the next segment, but heard the ruckus. Despite his better judgement, he hung back to listen.

“You're my fucking manager, man. _Mine_. Me.”

A deep male voice replied: “Right, Violet. I'm your manager. I’m looking out for you, and your career, and I'm sorry, but you do need her right now. You're not likeable,” he enunciated the word carefully, and Trixie wished more than anything that he could see the look on Violet’s face.

“FUCK likeable,” Violet spat. “I'm an artist. And this is all--this is bullshit. I'm the future of drag and you fucking people just want me to be another clown. _‘Oh Violet, you have to do fashion police. Oh Violet, Andy Cohen says he wants you behind the bar! You can watch rich white women get drunk, you'll love it!’_ Fuck you. Fuck this.”

And with that, the young queen burst through the door, stopping at the sight of a stunned Trixie Mattel.

They just stared at each other for a moment. Violet rolled her eyes and continued on, leaving Trixie alone in the hall.

 

Back at the apartment, Trixie said: “you're really going through with this.”

“Uh,” Violet, as usual, looked at him like he was an idiot, nodding slowly, “yeah.”

Trixie blinked rapidly and shook his head. This nightmare was never going to end.

“Why?”

“Because I want to,” Violet said, and for the first time since this all started, all the condescension had been dropped from their tone. They shrugged, continuing: “it's only fair. I mean, really, a video isn't going to change anything between Katya and I. But I understand that…” and now Violet took care to make sure Trixie was looking into her eyes - really listening to her, “...that might not be the case, for you two.”

“Maybe I don't want you to send her a sex tape,” Trixie said. “Maybe that would change things between you and me.”

Violet let Trixie’s words settle in the room before they finally nodded, their lips quirking up in a small smirk.

“I considered that,” they admitted, setting their drink down and approaching Trixie. “And I decided that I don't care. Because you're not like that, right?”

“You're a selfish asshole,” Trixie said.

Violet’s eyebrows shot up. Finally, some real anger. Maybe they were getting somewhere.

“Come on, Trix,” they said, “It's not my fault that you refuse to seize life by the balls and get what you wa-”

Trixie rushed at Violet then, grabbing their face and crushing their lips together.

They separated and Violet’s mouth was hanging open and they said: “what the _fuck_ , Firkus?”

Trixie licked his dry lips, awkwardly detaching his hands from Violet’s face.

“All I want,” Trixie said quietly, “is for you to shut up, Violet. I want you,” and now he was pushing her backwards toward the couch and Violet’s eyes were black saucers, a cornered animal, “to shut up, and stop. For a minute. Just stop.”

They stood like that for a moment, neither knowing what to do, where to look, what to say.

“Okay,” Violet murmured. “I'm sorry.”

“No you're not,” Trixie muttered. Violet opened their mouth to protest, but shut it at the look on Trixie’s face. “You're not. I've come to accept that. I used to admire you for it.” Trixie laughed a little. “I used to think, ‘what must it be like, to walk around the world like Violet fucking Chachki? To not give a shit about what anyone thinks? To not care about anyone but yourself?”

Trixie took a seat on the couch. Violet hesitated for a moment before joining him, quickly glancing at their forgotten drink on the countertop.

“And then I come out here,” Trixie continued, staring at Katya on the TV in front of them, “and I thought: maybe I'm wrong. Maybe she's changed.”

Violet was quiet, waiting for Trixie to continue. Trixie didn’t.

“Can I talk now?”

Trixie shrugged. Violet cleared their throat.

“I am sorry, Trixie. I really,” their eyes darted from the screen, back to Trixie, then somewhere else, staring at nothing as they gathered their thoughts. “I thought I was doing you a favor. I just - I don't know. I thought you and fucking Katya had this stupid thing going on, and I thought… Everything happens for a reason, right? Look.” Violet grabbed Trixie’s hand, making him look them in the eye. “I know you blame me for Dollhouse failing, but--”

“You burned the Dollhouse down, Violet,” Trixie said. “You lit the match in front of my fucking face and walked away.”

Again, Trixie surprised Violet.

“So poetic,” they said, dry. “Fine. I did. Whatever. That project wasn't right for us.” At Trixie’s look, Violet snorted and amended her statement: “Alright, it wasn’t for me. I knew you'd be fine. Fuck, man, look at you! Nothing will ever fucking stop you. You are the star nobody fucking asked for, Trixie Mattel.” She smacked Trixie in the shoulder, making the other queen flinch. “And you have a fat cock. And frankly…”

Trixie leaned into the back of the couch, pressing his palms into his eyes.

“...I think you do need to put that thing on video.” They ran a hand through their long hair. “Shit, man. I can’t think of anyone I want to make a porn with more than you. How legendary would that be, just as a rumor? Could you fucking imagine?”

“And how would a sex tape,” Trixie began, ignoring the flattery fluttering in his gut, “not end in disaster, Violet? I have dreams. Lofty fucking dreams! This is just the beginning for me. And these things are made to be leaked.”

Violet laughed.

“So what? You remember what happened last time my porn got leaked?” Violet grinned, barely holding their laughter in. Trixie tore his gaze from their mousey teeth, their brown eyes meeting. “I won.”

Before Trixie could think of what he could possibly say in the face of Violet Chachki’s unshakeable determination, his phone started to ring. He didn't need to look at it to know who it was. Neither did Violet.

“I have to take this,” Trixie said, monotone. “It's my little sister.”

Violet rolled their eyes and watched as Trixie disappeared behind the door of his room.

Once the door was shut, Trixie hissed into the phone: “you have 30 seconds to explain yourself and less than 24 hours until my plane lands and I come kick your fucking crackhead ass.”

“Wait,” Katya said on the other end of the line. “Did you say kick or lick?”

Trixie hung up. Katya called back.

“Trixie! I'm sorry! Listen. I am so sorry, I didn't mean for this to be a _thing_ , it was just like, a prank - I thought you would laugh! I’m sorry.”

Trixie was quiet.

“Peter was right about you,” he said. “And me, I guess.”

Katya’s voice as gentle. “Peter was a jealous, sniveling, narcissistic nancy who put mayo on everything.”

“I am also a jealous, narcissistic nancy who likes mayo,” Trixie said.

“But you have other qualities that make up for that.”

Trixie smiled for the first time in hours. He drew a breath and rubbed a hand over his face.

“I think I'm about to do something really stupid.”

“Nothing you do is stupid,” Katya said. “You're the smartest girl I know. I’m not joking, bitch.”

Trixie pictured Katya on his balcony, shoulders hunched as he smoked his 15th cigarette of the day (he was doing better; maybe by next week he'd be down to 10).

He thought about Violet, sipping her champagne in the other room, waiting patiently until she inevitably got what she wanted. As always.

“I gotta go. I'll see you when I get back.”

“Oh - okay. Love you.”

 

Trixie hung up and walked out to find Chachki exactly where he knew they'd be, glass in hand, ready for whatever was to come.

“Alright, Frankie,” Trixie said. “Go get your fucking singlet.”


	3. Haus of Malone

 

“Sir?

 

 

“...Sir?”

Trixie Mattel woke up on a plane with his hat pulled over his eyes and his shoulder wet with drool. He pushed the cap up off his face and blinked up at the flight attendant, who smiled, his perfect teeth a familiar beacon.

“Welcome home.”

 

*

  
_Are you back???_

_Wait - before you answer that; should we make an app? Apps are cool, right? Think about it and get back to me._

_You are getting back to me, right?_

_Tracy?_

 

 

*

*

 

“How should we do this? Should we put on actual porn or something?”

Violet looked at Trixie like he was being an idiot, because, well. He was. The shiny shorts they’d made him stuff himself into weren't helping.

“You heard her,” they said. “We only get to watch if we're jacking off _to_ it. Otherwise we're cheating and that would make us really shitty friends, Trixie Mattel.” Trixie chewed the inside of his cheek and stared at Violet, whose gaze became narrower, somehow. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Trixie shrugged, looking away.

“I don't think I can get hard,” he mumbled.

Violet stared at him.

“Come on,” they said. Trixie shrugged again, still not looking at them. Violet laughed. “Seriously? Jesus Christ. You want me to…?”

“Don’t touch me.” Violet held their hands up and swallowed another laugh. They relaxed and considered Trixie for a moment.

“Nothing?” They said. “Nothing, Tracy?” Trixie’s pokerface was impressive. This was the first time Violet had ever seen it, really; so steely and practiced - maybe he'd finally picked up some tricks out in California. “‘Cause I swear I saw a little something going on earlier.”

“Right,” Trixie said, monotone. “Because you were, as usual, staring at my dick.” Violet rolled their eyes and huffed.

“You idiot. You're supposed to say, _‘I'll show you a_ little _something.’_ And then, fuckin, whip it out. Gawd, Tracy. What kind of comedy queen are you?”

Trixie scoffed.

“Oh, I'm sorry? I didn't realize I was taking a fucking improv 101 with Violet Chachki.”

“Well, you better get into it, girl.” Violet set up the phone camera to frame them both on the couch. “Because those straight nerds aren't gonna be able to edit in a boner for you.”

“That's actually not a bad idea…” Violet shot him a look. Trixie shrugged. “They ship us.”

“Sit down, Mattel. Sit.” Violet placed a hand on Trixie’s shoulder, shoving him down onto the couch with surprising strength, “down. I’m not worried about your boner. Here’s the deal,” Violet adjusted Trixie’s hat, making sure he was looking them in the eye, “it’s all about the fantasy. Your name is--”

“Chase,” Trixie cut in, grabbing Violet’s hand. “My name is Chase.”

_“Malone,”_ Violet corrected him, slapping his hand away. “Your name is Chase Malone.”

They stared at each other for a moment until Violet blinked and cleared their throat, adding: “Firkus, do you seriously expect me to buy this bullshit that you’ve never even had a fucking wet dream about her?”

Trixie snorted, shaking his head at the other queen. “I’m not--!” he started, stopped. “I never said--”

“So you have.” Trixie looked up into Violet’s dark eyes. He shrugged. The intensity of Violet’s stare was beginning to burn a hole through him. “And?”

Trixie groaned and collapsed against the back of the couch. He kept his eyes trained on the ceiling. 

“We were driving home from the courthouse...”

_“Courthouse?”_

“...and Katya was wearing that stupid fucking plaid shirt, and I was… upset. We’d just got married and he’s dressed like we’re going to fucking Target. But we get to the house, and he picks me up, kicks the door in…”

“...And then kicks your backdoor in,” Violet finished with a nod, all signs of amusement replaced by disgust, and perhaps - but Trixie didn’t want to give them too much credit - a small amount of pity.

“I can't come unless there’s a ring on my finger,” Trixie said. “You know that.”

“Ignorant,” Violet bit back a laugh as they considered the pathetic man sitting across from them. “Disgusting. Do you marry everyone in your fantasies, or just that whore?”

Trixie was quiet for a moment.

“Well," he began, "there was James Marsden...and Kyle, and then my brother’s friend, Jack…”

“Oh my god,” Violet muttered. “I'm depressed now.”

“Thanks,” Trixie said, nodding his head, “Thank you so much, Violet, wonderful, this is really, you know, really helping me get this boner going--”

“Don’t,” Violet snapped, holding their hand up, “worry about your boner. Don’t even bring it up. DON’T,” and they managed to keep a straight face opposite Trixie's delighted grin, but only just barely, “remark on how accidentally funny what I just said was.”

“I did feel a little stir,” Trixie said.

“I know you did, you fucking bumpkin,” and maybe it was the wordplay, or maybe it was the nostalgic exasperation in Violet’s voice, but Trixie did feel something strange trickle into the depths of his gut. “But that is not the kind of film I am - the kind of film _we_ _are_ \- making today. You,” they slapped his hat back onto his head, “are my step-brother.”

“Uh huh,” Trixie nodded dumbly, adjusting the cap.

“And you’ve just come home from fuckin’...hockey practice, or some shit.”

“Okay.”

“And you want to watch TV, but I have the remote. Frankie is catching up on _Project Runway.”_

“But I want to watch the game, you bitch.”

Violet nodded solemnly. “Yes,” they said. “You do. But here’s the thing, Chase. I’m sick of not getting along. My dad’s been riding my ass about the way we bicker. It stresses your mom out, which stresses him out, yadda yadda. So I offer a compromise.”

“And what’s that.”

“Let’s just watch something we can both enjoy...”

“Yeah?”

“...Porn.”

Trixie snorted, shaking his head at Violet.

“You,” he said, wagging a finger at them, “do not get nearly enough credit for being a freak genius, Violet Chachki.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, bitch.” But Violet was smiling like--

Trixie swallowed and thought of the way Violet had smiled at him behind her curtain in the workroom after that first week.

 

_You can’t hate me forever, Trixie Mattel. You won’t be here long enough._

 

“Tracy.”

Violet’s grin had faded, impatience pursing their lips.

“Let me tell you about my fantasy.”

Trixie blinked up at Violet and nodded. They cleared their throat and sat down next to him.

“When I was a kid, my parents took us to the coast. It was fine, kind’ve boring. I wanted to see a lighthouse. My mom had these lighthouse pictures, paintings, whatever, in our house my entire life, and I’d never seen one up close. So I kept asking, you know: where’s the lighthouse? And my dad just said: we don’t got those.”

“This is your dream? Sexy.” Violet shot Trixie a look.

“No, bitch. This is real life. So fast-forward a few years. I’m doing some gigs up North--”

“What coast is this, by the way?”

Violet stared at Trixie. “Does it fucking matter?”

“It would help flesh the story out, yeah.”

“You’re annoying me. I’m in fucking New England, okay? I’m doing a fucking gig in New England. The gig goes well, of course. I meet this guy after. It’s late - probably 1am or so, and I just… I just want to get fucked, you know?”

“Sure,” Trixie nodded, “sure.”

“But this guy - he’s actually kinda sweet, which, I’m not gonna lie…is a turn-off. But I kept thinking about his dickpic, and figured, whatever. I’ll humor him.”

“Uh huh.”

“So this guy, he goes: I want to show you something.”

“Don’t tell me he took you to a goddamn lighthouse, Violet. I don’t think I could handle the romance and poetry.” Violet flashed him a tight smile, prompting Trixie to continue: “And you sucked his dick to the soothing sounds of crashing ocean waves under the pale moonlight?”

“No…” Trixie watched as Violet’s eyes drifted. “No. I didn’t. It was cool, I guess. But it was kinda like... _'oh. I guess that's it.'_   I don't know. I kept thinking: this is something I've always wanted to experience--" Violet paused, rolling their eyes, "--and I felt like... everything was off. I'm here with some fucking grindr hook-up with an okay dick. This isn't the scene I'd imagined for myself, you know? So I made him take me back to my hotel and drop me off.”

Trixie shifted a little, suddenly anxious.

“So who’s dick did you suck?”

“Nobodies. I went to up my room alone and jacked-off thinking about how this idiot from Boston was supposed to come to my show, take me out to a stupid fucking lighthouse afterwards, and fuck my goddamned brains out.” Trixie’s smile faded. Violet met his gaze, continuing: “Or, fuck that, take me to a fuckin, hotel room with a picture of a fucking lighthouse, and fuck my fucking brains out." Violet paused again, their tongue darting out to wet their dry lips. "But she was busy, I guess,” they continued, monotone. “She got caught up in... something. I couldn’t tell you with what. I mean, I probably could, but you know her as well as I do.”

“Better,” Trixie said, eyes glued to Violet’s as he tried to comprehend everything they had just said. Violet smirked a little.

“I guess I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up,” they muttered. “But I was mostly just annoyed with how fucking boring my back-up plan was.” Violet sighed. “I’m too hot for this kind of bullshit.”

“You and Katya had a date...” Trixie muttered, “...and she stood you up.”

Violet pursed her lips, thinking.

“‘ _Date’_ is pushing it.” She looked away from Trixie’s wide and mystified gaze, thinking. “I don’t know. What do you call it,” Violet paused to tap a finger thoughtfully against their lips, “when someone you haven’t seen or spoken to in months calls you at four in the morning with her dick in her hand?” They smirked as Trixie’s mouth hung open, pitching their voice a little lower in a crude imitation of the Bostonian queen: _“I can’t wait to see you, you rotted cunt. And I do mean rotted.”_

Trixie twitched.

“She told you that?”

“She didn’t have to.” Violet nodded to Trixie’s crotch. “So, what do you think? You good to go over there?”

Trixie blinked, reaching over to cover the sudden tent in his shorts.

“You’re like--” Trixie shook his head, staring at his smug companion, “you’re like a… witch.”

“I know,” Violet said, turning around to hit the record button on the phone. “Now let’s get this fucking thing over with.”

 

*

 

At a certain point, they were jerking off in sync. Trixie cast a furtive glance toward his former rival, admiring the grace with which they stroked their (frankly, ridiculous) cock, and wondered if they were doing the same, if they took notice of the way his newly-toned bicep popped.

Trixie forced himself to stop worrying about Violet and turned his attention back to Katya on the screen as he jerked mindlessly, listening to Violet huff and mewl next to him; were they trying to make him laugh? Like Katya, the line between irony and earnest oddness blurred too often with Violet for Trixie to keep track of whichever side he was on. He risked another glance at the other queen only to find them staring back at him, their breath coming hard, the muscles in their chest working as the lagoon pools of their eyes swallowed him whole.

“Hey,” Violet said, and the quiet rasp of their voice nearly blinded him for a moment, “you want me to suck you off?”

_What?_ He tried to say, but couldn't; he'd forgotten how to speak, and Violet - an expert, now, at handling the speechless - leaned in and, using their free hand, pulled Trixie to them.

They kissed like that for minutes, Trixie’s preoccupied hand slowing, slowing, slowing, until he finally gave it new purpose, pulling Violet on top of him.

Violet pulled away to looked down at him. They kissed him again, sweet and quick this time, and sank down to the floor.

They rested a cheek against Trixie’s thigh and said: “What if Dad comes home and catches us…”

Trixie’s eyes darted between Violet and the camera.

He said: “Are you afraid he’ll be jealous?”

Violet replied: “He should be,” and took Trixie’s cock into their mouth.

Trixie gasped and dug his fingers into Violet’s hair.

“Oh my GOD, Vi--” they scraped their teeth over his cock, and Trixie choked, correcting himself, “F--f--frankie,” he said. Violet watched as he threw his head back against the couch, his hat popping off and falling to the floor.

He didn’t last long. Trixie came with a gasp, the fingers in Violet’s hair releasing their grip to trail away, grazing their cheeks as Violet swallowed and wiped their mouth. She patted Trixie’s sweaty thigh and stood up. Trixie blearily watched their erection bob as they padded over to the phone.

Violet leaned in until their face took up the entire screen, said: “The end,” and stopped the recording.

Trixie, finally back on earth, frowned.

“What are you -- why did you stop it? You haven’t even come yet.”

“What?” Violet stopped fiddling with the iPhone to glance over at him. Trixie nodded at their hard-on. Violet scoffed. “Wow, you really are a big old lesbian, huh, Tracy?”

Trixie’s mouth hung open as he stared at them. “You just fucking _blew_ me.”

“You're welcome. Oh, don't look at me like that. If Katya wants to see _me_ come, again, she can send me a tape. Load for a load, Trix. It’s only fair.”

Trixie stared at them for a moment before finally getting up. He reached for Violet’s hand.

“Violet.”

Violet held Trixie’s gaze for a moment, their eyes unreadable. They squeezed his hand before sliding out of his grip.

“Put some pants on," they said. "You gotta get to the airport.”

Trixie watched as Violet disappeared down the hall. He listened to their door shut and bent over to pickup up his hat. He slapped it back onto his head, caught his reflection in the now blank black screen of the television - a grown man in glittery shorts and a baseball cap - and sighed.

In the hall, Trixie paused in front of Violet’s room. He hesitated before he finally leaned against the door, his ear pressed against the wood.

He heard: nothing. No muttering, no rustling, no strange mewls.

Trixie moved on, shutting his own door behind him as he began to change back into his clothes, trying not to think about the fact that he had, once again, played into Violet’s plans. Whatever the hell those were.

 

 

*

  
*

 

In Los Angeles, Trixie sat on his bed, flicked his hat off, and took a moment.

The last things he remembered clearly were: his hand, grasping the back of Violet’s head as it had mere hours prior, and the mortifying hitch in his voice as he held them close and said:

_Thank you for--_

How Violet’s smile felt against his shoulder before they interrupted him:

_Go home, idiot._

That was how Violet left him at the airport, jacket pulled tight around their slim frame as they walked out the doors without a second look back as the escalator took Trixie up and out of sight.

 

Trixie sat up on his bed and took a calming breath. A cooling breath? He never kept the terms straight. Was it important?

Trixie… breathed. In, out.

His phone buzzed next to him on the bed.

 

_Can you at least let me in?_

_There’s coyotes out here, Trix._

*

 

He opened the door and Katya said, “You should’ve never let me add you on _Find My Fags_. I always know where you are, especially when you’re avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you,” Trixie stood aside so Katya could walk in, rolling his eyes when he realized he was waiting for a hug like a fucking vampire waiting for his invitation. Trixie pulled Katya to him and breathed in the smokey evening that clung to him, kicking the door closed. “I’m fucking exhausted, girl.”

Katya rubbed his back and chuckled, pulling away just enough to get a good look at him.

His voice was gentle when he said, “You look like shit, mama. But a good shit. Healthy shit. The first real shit after two-to-three days of painful constipation, I swear to God.”

Trixie laughed, rolling his eyes. He swung an arm around Katya’s shoulders and brought him in for another hug.

“Did you…” Trixie trailed off, unsure of how to ask the question. He pulled away, looking Katya in the eye. “Did you get… it?”

Katya held his gaze for a while before nodding.

“I did,” he said, his hand still firm on Trixie’s back. “I didn’t watch it, though.”

Trixie wet his lips. The place where Katya’s hand sat on his back began to burn.

“Why not?”

Katya squinted up at him, brows furrowed.

“I was waiting for you, Tracy."

Trixie watched Katya’s face soften as he grinned and thought, briefly, of lighthouses.

 

*

*

*


End file.
